


or love

by osu_caru (Indis)



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble Sequence, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 08:02:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13654860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indis/pseuds/osu_caru
Summary: Jumin, and the seven kinds of Greek love.





	1. philia; or brotherly love

Jumin had no siblings, but Jihyun had a baby sister. Once, Jumin had even been allowed to hold her, and her pink starfish hand grabbed his little finger with an unexpectedly tenacious grip. Jihyun adored and complained of her in equal measure; Jumin silently thought of the newspapers, the scandals of illegitimate children, the little brothers and sisters of whom he knew nothing but names printed on the page.

When Jumin confided this, Jihyun flung his arms around his neck, soft hair tickling slightly. 'I will always be your brother.'

So the ache in Jumin’s heart abated, for a while.


	2. philautia; or self love

Slowly, so slowly, they realised Rika’s dream, and the first party was at last launched. The press lauded her vision, Jumin’s sponsorship of the party, the resounding success of the fundraising. There was a warmth in Jumin, that he might almost have called contentment.

Afterwards, he returned to his penthouse, and with Elizabeth in his arms he stood before the windows. How small the city seemed below him. From so high a position, he rarely thought of the lives so far down. Now he understood: he was becoming a better man, as he started to raise them to his height.


	3. ludus; or playful love

She laughed at Jumin’s jokes, cooed over Elizabeth, sympathised with his woes, even leapt to his defence when he argued with Zen.

 _Why do you always talk to me? What about me interests you so much?_ he wondered.

_Well, I can tell you’re a good man. And I always have fun talking to you, more than with any of the others._

He wished that he could see her face, that he knew the shape of her smile. He leaned back in the seat of the car on his way to work, and the corners of his mouth ached from grinning.


	4. agape; or unconditional love

There is naught but a hairsbreadth between selfishness and selflessness. Jumin has never had anyone close enough to be either of these things for, until now.

For the first time, they sleep together in the same bed. She smells of mint shampoo and his own fabric softener on the sheets. He thinks:

_there is nothing I would not sacrifice of others for her_ (selfish)

_there is nothing I would not sacrifice of myself for her_ (selfless)

Or maybe, as she would say it:

_you must never sacrifice anything for me_ (unconditional)

That is love, as he learns it from her.


	5. eros; or sexual love

She is so beautiful under him, pupils blown large and black by arousal, mouth bitten swollen and pink. Jumin captures her cries with his own mouth, swallows her gasps and sighs and moans. Tears of pleasure gather in the corners of her eyes and he kisses them away, salt ambrosia to his eager lips.

There is not a part of her he does not love or desire. He presses his lips to patches of freckles, old scars, the fragile skin at the bend of her knee. Before the night is over, he will know all of her in intimate detail.


	6. pragma; or love that endures

Jumin takes her to France for her birthday. They tour chateaus and cities, explore the nooks and crannies of Paris.

While eating in his favourite restaurant, he gazes at her as they share a bottle of wine. Evening light captures the warmth in her eyes, brightens her already bright smile.

Jumin knows she is the woman he is meant to spend his life with. There is no one else he would entrust himself to. He has already given her his body and heart, laid bare all his vulnerabilities.

All that is left to give is the ring in his pocket.


	7. storge; or love for one's child

Gently, so gently, Jumin cradles his newborn son. The dark curls are undeniably his legacy, but there is no trace of either of them in the red, scrunched features; he doesn’t really look like anything, for the moment.

With his son tucked into the crook of his shoulder, Jumin turns to his wife. His own joy is mirrored in her expression, this new love for his child that is beyond what any words can describe. He won’t attempt to then, an endeavour doomed to failure. Instead he keeps his son close and safe, breathes in the newborn scent of him.


End file.
